


Caretaker

by Diamondflame33



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV Second Person, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader is a Child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 23:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diamondflame33/pseuds/Diamondflame33
Summary: Theyreally enjoy the pastries from down the street, so they send you to get them all the time. You meet an intriguing spider-lady. Monsters don't seem all that bad after all.





	Caretaker

The first time Muffet saw you, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Any of them.

Who in the world would send a _child_ in the middle of the night to pick up an order of pastries from a _monster bakery?_ Monsters as a whole had made no effort to hide their abrasive nature since coming to the surface, and such a thing had never happened before so Muffet knew for certain that humans viewed them as dangerous.

Dangerous, or deadly.

Either way produced the same effect.

Yet, there you were. Standing on your tip-toes to see over her counter, holding a slip of paper with your parents’ order and human currency, trying to get her attention.

Before this, Muffet had never seen a human child in any sort of proximity.

Children were strange.

Small.

Squishy.

You’d yelped in surprise, jumping as a spider crawled across your skin. Muffet had been about to react to protect her little cousins when you brought you sleeve up to your face. “Please don’t crawl on me.” You’d requested, gently picking the spider up and placing it on the floor.

The order written on the paper was simple and the change correct, so Muffet had filled it without a second thought.

You left with a smile and a quiet “Thank you.” Didn’t you understand that serving you was her job?

 

The second time Muffet saw you, she was slightly less disbelieving. After all, it had already happened once before. The patrons sitting at her tables had tensed, wary around a human of any size. Muffet didn’t blame them. Your parents could be using you as a ploy to gain their trust, since you were harmless and fragile.

And tiny.

You were barely tall enough to see over her counter at your tallest.

Even monsters treated children better than that. However, it was an unspoken rule that you couldn’t really touch a young monster until they shed their stripes, so perhaps the humans were using that rule against them, knowing none of them would touch you.

Muffet knew what an adult human was, even if they didn’t put all of their children in striped shirts. You were nowhere near that age.

If you were a monster child, you would still have several years to go before shedding your stripes.

Certainly, you were too young to be about by yourself.

Still, it was broad daylight outside this time. Nobody was waiting outside for you that she could see. After a thorough inspection, Muffet relaxed slightly.

You held up the slip of paper and money, as you had the first night. The order hadn’t changed, and neither had the amount of money.

She noted the scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol clinging to you. It wasn’t mixed with your own scent, though, so it was probably from someone around you.

Muffet filled the order wordlessly. You took the paper bag in your tiny hands with another quiet “Thank you,” before leaving out of the door.

She wasn’t serving you because she wanted to. She was serving you because you were a paying customer. What was the gratitude for?

 

Three months later, Muffet found that she was making sure she had your order ready in case you came in the store. You did so intermittently, at odd intervals. It was never on the same day of the week, or the same date, or even the same time of day.

But it was always you.

Alone.

It vaguely occurred to her that her initial fears were coming true. Both she and her regulars were used to your random appearances. So used to it, in fact, that you barely elicited a reaction anymore.

Muffet watched you with a renewed vigor at this realization. You were in in the morning this time, waiting patiently as Sans argued with her over the counter over how much he still owed her. He caught onto her caution immediately as she paused in the middle of the conversation.

Seeing the money in your hands, and knowing Muffet would kill him for losing her any of it, Sans stepped away from the counter. You hesitated, glancing at him as you tugged on the too long sleeves of your turtleneck. Didn’t your parents realize it was the middle of summer? Why would they let you out of the house in so much clothing?

You didn’t approach until Muffet waved you forward with an annoyed grimace. You glanced in Sans’s direction again before you obeyed.

You didn’t hold the order and money out to her like you usually did, instead setting them on the counter before trying to shrink in on yourself. As if you needed to be any smaller.

Apparently, whoever was giving you the money to collect these orders from her store hadn’t realized that they’d passed the fiscal year. She’d had to increase the prices to make up for the increased taxes on the district. You didn’t have enough.

Panic entered your eyes as she relayed this information to you, but you hid it quickly, trying to search your pockets for any extra change. You managed to come up with a few more coins, but you were still short of the full amount for the order.

You gazed at the prices on the board behind her before reaching up to scratch an item off and replace it with a cheaper one, one you had just enough to cover.

Were you really old enough to do that kind of math so quickly?

Still, Muffet filled the order wordlessly. As long as you paid, she didn’t care. As usual, you left with your quiet words of gratitude. As usual, she scoffed at them.

 

When you came back the next day, a good portion of your face was an odd color. Some odd mix of black and yellow. Were humans supposed to change colors like that? Were you hiding something dangerous under it? Was that possible?

Suspicious, Muffet had demanded to know what it was.

“I fell while playing.” You insisted instantly. “It bruised.”

Bruise? What was that? She would have to ask Alphys later. The scientist knew much more about humans than Muffet did.

You held up the slip of paper containing your usual order and the correct amount of money this time. As she grabbed it from you, Muffet noticed your sleeves had ridden up, revealing more of those oddly-colored patches. She grabbed the order without a word as you pulled your small hands back down to tug your sleeves down.

She would definitely talk to Alphys.

You checked the bag as you usually did, protesting when you found an extra muffin in it and handing it back immediately. Muffet sent a quick glare at the spiders on the counter, the most likely culprits.

You made sure to thank her, as you always did. Muffet scoffed at you, as she usually did.

 

Alphys knew exactly what bruising was. After the short explanation, Muffet expected to feel relief. Bruises didn’t mean you were hiding anything dangerous that could hurt her or her customers. Still, she had to wonder if it was normal to get so many.

Alphys hadn’t seemed to think so. The scientist said she would ask the queen, who had much more experience with human children that anyone else she knew did.

Muffet didn’t quite realize the implications of this until the monarch came storming into her bakery two days later just before closing, furious. The door dinged the arrival of a customer just as the monarch’s tirade about potentially ignoring abused children ended.

Abused? What did that mean? Why was it so bad? Muffet wondered as her gaze shifted to the door. It was Sans’s brother, Papyrus. Here to talk about his brother’s debt, no doubt.

 

It wasn’t you this time. It was a woman with your order, written on one of those same slips of paper holding exact change. She was large, reeking of alcohol. This was an adult.

Not like you.

Muffet could hear her uttering phrases under her breath. Phrases like, “waste of space,” and, “should just go and die already.”

Such animosity was almost comparable to a monster. Muffet found herself wondering who she was talking about, on guard. This woman resembled you physically.

Was she your parent?

If so, physicality was where the similarities ended. You were polite and soft spoken. This woman was an angry loudmouth. Muffet couldn’t serve her fast enough, glad when her store was rid of the woman. She found herself hoping it would be you again next time.

Muffet supposed she liked you.

You were good.

For a human.

 

The queen had come again several times, hoping to catch you on one of your randomly timed trips to Muffet’s shop. This time, she had gotten lucky.

You stood there, slip of paper in hands hidden by too-long sleeves. You hid by the door, realizing someone was already at the counter, eyes firmly on the ground in front of you. The queen noted Muffet’s sudden shift in attention and turned.

The monarch gave you a once over before backing away from the counter, as if to observe you for herself. It must have been something pretty serious if the queen was so intent.

You moved to the counter wordlessly when Muffet waved you over, setting the paper and money on the counter without looking up. Still, Muffet could see the vague line of a cut on your cheek.

Then it clicked. Someone was harming you. Purposefully.

Abusing you.

Unbidden, one of her hands reached down to lift your face so she could inspect it. You flinched horribly, something she’d never seen a child do before. Most monster children used the fact that adults couldn’t harm them to their advantage, so they never flinched. They knew they wouldn’t come to harm.

You didn’t seem to know that.

Muffet suddenly understood why as she inspected the cut on your face that you insisted was from playing. You were lying. She knew those kinds of cuts. She made them regularly: in food. Someone had taken a kitchen knife to your face.

An odd feeling rushed through her then.

Horror.

What kind of creature would willfully harm a child? Striped shirt or no, that was the most unspeakable thing Muffet could think of.

And not much was unspeakable to monsters.

Two more of her arms caught your shoulders as you tried to back away. A fourth hand jerked your sleeve up your arm, as Muffet knew there was more damage underneath. The queen approached at this point.

It wasn’t just bruises. It wasn’t just cuts and scrapes and potential child- induced things. There were burns and carved words there. You couldn’t possibly have gotten that from playing.

Unlike before, when you’d tried to tug away, you seemed to have resigned yourself to your fate. The queen approached, settling her hands on your shoulders as Muffet locked the shop and shut the blinds. You didn’t protest when the queen asked if she could lift your shirt.

It was even worse.

So much worse.

Still, it was nothing compared to your reaction when the queen asked you to take your pants off so they could assess the damage there. Your eyes had widened in fear and you threw your hands over your face, backing away to curl into a ball in the corner, repeating “I’m sorry,” over and over again.

Muffet was at a loss for what could have cause _this_ reaction, but by the set in the monarch’s jaw, she assumed Queen Toriel knew…and it was bad. “Hospital. Now.” She ordered.

Muffet didn’t take well to being told what to do, but in this case, she could make an exception.

 

The doctors couldn’t get a word out of you. Neither could the police or child protective services. They had eventually asked Muffet if she could try. Apparently, they couldn’t do anything without some form of confirmation from you, despite the evidence right in front of them.

Muffet was not a gentle person. Still, you seemed to relax when you realized it was her in the room instead of more people you didn’t know.

Instead of beating around the bush like everyone else had tried, Muffet got straight to the point. “Why would you let anyone do that to you?”

You flinched at her cold tone, but you answered, which was more than anyone else had gotten.

You answered.

“Because I deserve it.”

Like hell. Even the worst little shits called children were still to be protected. You were a far cry from that, soft-spoken and polite as you were.

Still, the authorities needed answers. Hell, Muffet wanted them too. “Why do you deserve it?”

“Because I cost money. Because I don’t give anything back. Because my grades aren’t good and I’ll grow up to be a worthless adult. Because they have to keep an eye on me instead of doing what they want to. Because I can’t help them in the ways that they need. I’m a nuisance.” Your small hands balled into fists in the blanket as you repeated the reasons.

Muffet didn’t doubt for an instant that this is exactly what they told you as they beat you.

“Who are _they?”_ Was all she managed to ask, hoping you would answer so she could rip their puny little-.

“I’m not allowed to say. I don’t deserve to be able to refer to them in that way.”

It had never occurred to Muffet before how _dependent_ children were, until this moment. You _relied_ on adults to show you how the world worked, and your place in it. You couldn’t tell the difference between one who was doing it well and ones who did it poorly. How could you?

That’s something you had to be _taught_.

“What _do_ you deserve to call them?”

She needed something.

Anything.

“Sir. Ma’am. Master, when…I’m not allowed to say.” Muffet didn’t know the implications of this, but it seemed someone outside of the room listening did, as her sensitive hearing picked up a muted gag.

Muffet’s voice was cold as she asked the next question. “Are they your parents?”

Your eyes squeezed shut. “I’m not allowed to call them that.” You replied.

It was the confirmation they’d needed all along.

 

Muffet hadn’t expected to see you again after that night.

She’d been wrong.

It was Queen Toriel herself that brought you into her shop again, Frisk not far behind. You weren’t here as the queen’s charge, though. Frisk dragged you off to a table to munch on muffins while Toriel stayed back at the counter to talk.

Queen Toriel meant for _Muffet_ to be your caretaker.

“They need an adult they trust.” The monarch had argued when she refused. “They won’t eat, or talk. Hardly sleep. They trusted you enough to talk you before, Muffet. They need _you_.” Toriel insisted.

Not that there was any way Muffet could continue arguing. If she did, then Toriel would just _order_ her to do it, and she couldn’t disobey a direct order from her queen.

You stayed in the corner as they left, watching them go as silently as you had come in.

Muffet brought you a croissant as the spiders closed up for the night. It seemed to be out of sheer habit when you thanked her.

It was definitely out of sheer habit that Muffet scoffed at you.

You smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who read The Human Condition, this is in no way related to that. I just...well depression is weird. I needed to get this out of my system, and it was well written, so...
> 
> I'm gonna shut up now. Hope you enjoyed reading.


End file.
